Susan Pawlak-Seaman: Dick Clark's bravery, presence were missed

New Year's Rockin' Eve 2012 wasn't the same without Dick Clark. There are some who say it was better. I am not one of them.

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Posted Jan. 4, 2013 at 12:01 AM
Updated Jan 4, 2013 at 8:14 AM

Posted Jan. 4, 2013 at 12:01 AM
Updated Jan 4, 2013 at 8:14 AM

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New Year's Rockin' Eve 2012 wasn't the same without Dick Clark.

There are some who say it was better.

I am not one of them.

Clark, 82, a prolific producer and longtime host of American Bandstand, died last April of a heart attack. But that's only part of his story. In December 2004, he had a debilitating stroke which left him partially paralyzed on one side, caused a pronounced droop in his face and affected his speech.

Clark battled back from it all to the point where, in 2006, he was able to return to TV on New Year's Eve and reclaim some of the co-hosting duties he'd long performed.

I remember watching his post-stroke "coming out" with my husband Hank; we had more than a passing interest. In September 2004, just a few months before Clark's "brain attack" (as some aptly refer to strokes) Hank had had one of his own.

He was hospitalized, then in rehab, for several months. While Hank has a great attitude and has made major strides, eight years later, challenges remain: limited use of his left arm; a left leg that, while "walkable," feels as if it's permanently asleep; and left vision loss in both eyes, to name a few. He uses a cane around the house and a wheelchair when we go out.

Nobody has to tell Hank — or me — how much a stroke can change your life.

Dick Clark discovered that, too. Yet, on that Dec. 31, 2006 as we watched him on TV, what Hank and I cheered was his courage.

Prior to his stroke, even as a senior citizen, Clark had retained the glow of "America's Oldest Teenager." Now, however, that eternally youthful appearance had been irrevocably altered. Clark's handsome facial features were pulled slightly askew and one arm was immobile on the desk in front of him.

When he spoke, he spoke slowly and his speech was thick. But he was still charming and charismatic — and the fact that he was out there putting a much-needed face on stroke made him our hero.

It never occurred to us that not everyone would feel the same way.

In the days following Clark's return, there was certainly some praise. But there was also public wincing from people asking why he even went on TV. He didn't look or sound the same and watching him made them "uncomfortable," some said.

They wanted, they said, to remember Dick Clark "as he was." Which apparently, in their minds, meant that he should stay out of public view.

Fortunately, Clark didn't listen ... and for five more years, he was front and center when the ball dropped in Times Square.

In my book, his unwavering presence — and the conviction that informed it — was as valuable as anything he did in his long and illustrious career.

Because, despite the visible toll his illness took, Dick Clark reminded us that no matter how others feel or judge, there is life after stroke — and it's up to us how we choose to live it.